


how to save your angel boyfriend in way more than 5 not-so-easy steps

by icaruslaughed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Crack, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Dean, Post 15x19, Sam Winchester Knows, Slow Burn, Third Wheel Sam Winchester, a nice middle finger to canon, dean's mental health declines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icaruslaughed/pseuds/icaruslaughed
Summary: Sam and Dean have just defeated Chuck, Jack restored the world to its proper order, and everything seems fairly quiet...for now, anyways. In the wise words of Jensen Ackles, what could possibly be left to do?The Greatest Love Story Ever Told, with bonus features: crack and Gay Pining
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. the Bro Scene at the end of 15x19 but make it Gay Pining

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone and welcome to my first long fic (and by long, i mean not just one chapter lmao)!! it's been a while, i know, but honestly? i'm just glad to be writing again; it feels really nice.  
> i'd love to say a huge thank you to the (technically) beta for this fic, jay (@sl33bo1 on tumblr), simply for all their moral support in the process of getting this written. i love you with all my heart, and i'm so looking forward to having you as my "agent"!!  
> and last but not least, i'm thinking either weekly or bi-weekly updates on this, but i'll just have to wait and see, so, without further ado: your story.

**April 19, 2020**

As he leaned back on the hand he braced behind him, his fingers brushed over letters carved into the library’s table and Dean Winchester nearly cried. 

As it was, tears welled in the corners of his eyes and threatened to spill over. They’d lost everyone. _Everyone_ , even Jack. Of course, they’re all alive--most of them, anyway--but they’re not _with them._ Rowena, Jody, Donna, Bobby, Claire, _Eileen, Jack. Cas._ They either died or left because of Dean, because he couldn’t stop it, because he as good as _killed-_ He _killed him_. Suddenly, it was all too much.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Dumb son of a bitch.” Sam shot him a look, but didn’t say anything. Dean knew his brother was allowing him to keep going if he wanted. Or to just leave it at that. Better now than never, right?

“Cas saved me,” Dean blurted, his voice loud in the empty silence of the bunker.

“You told me that already,” Sam reminded him softly.

“No, Sammy, he- he fucking _saved_ me. He _saved_ me but it meant…” Dean took two long pulls from his beer, wishing it were something stronger. As if anything could get him drunk enough for this. “He told me-”

“He told you what, Dean?”

“Cas said that he made a deal with the Empty: him for Jack. But it’d only take him when he was happy, like, completely happy.” Dean could hear words tumbling out, knew he was rambling, but didn’t care because maybe he’d get to the point eventually. It was easier this way. Sam’d ask less questions, too. “Guess he wasn’t really all that happy here with us,” Dean chuckled darkly. The “with me” was implied. He knew Sam could hear it, too. “That’s on me. Don’t tell me it’s not, because it is. I didn’t- I never told him. He didn’t _know._ Still doesn’t I guess.” He traced his fingers over the letters skillfully carved into the old wood. Cas was good with a blade in more ways than one, Dean had to give him credit for that. He had to give him credit for a lot of things, actually. Cas was due so much more credit than he was ever given and _why does it always take him dying for you to realize that, you ungrateful bastard?_

“Doesn’t know...what? Dean, what happened?” Sam urged, previous caution apparently thrown to the wind. Dean had to admit, his brother could be an annoying little shit sometimes, but others? He knew exactly how to snap his stupid fuckup of an older brother back to reality.

“He told me-,” Dean’s voice broke, but he forced himself to keep going. If not now, then when? _Be like him, maybe. Wait until you’re dying. As if you’d ever be able to do it then, either._ He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind, the same thoughts that plagued him since the moment Cas told him, _“You changed me, Dean.”_ He told him to never change. He _told_ him; why didn’t the stupid son of a bitch listen? “Doesn’t matter; he’s dead now,” he rasped, taking a swig from his beer and wishing--not for the first time--that it was something stronger.

“Dean-,” Sam began, but thought better of it. What could he say in response to that? Dean wanted to resent Sam for having nothing to say, but perhaps there _was_ nothing to say. His failure to keep his- his best friend alive spoke volumes more than he himself ever could.

“I miss him, Sam.” Sam simply nodded. He missed him too. Maybe differently than Dean, but Cas was still like a brother to them-- _he_ died _thinking you only loved him like a brother._

They sat there awhile, silent save for the occasional rustling of fabric as they took a sip from the near-empty bottles clutched tight in their hands. After what could have been minutes or hours, Sam turned to Dean, resolute, and spoke, his words near deafening in the quiet. “Let’s go save Cas.” It rang through the air the same way Anna told them Cas’ first words after leaving Hell had rang in the ears of every angel in Creation. It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

The urge to get up and leave, to hide in his room and drink until consciousness no longer bothered him tried to take control, but he pushed it down. He’d shut too many people out, closed the door before it could even open more than a crack more times than he could count. For the longest time, he believed it to be the safest option for him, for everyone around him. God, he was so wrong. As usual.

Old habits die hard, they say, but he killed things for a living. _You kill your friends as a hobby, too._ He could handle one little problem. Just the one, if only for now. So, he stayed with Sam on the library table where the last of his family remained etched into old wood. He stayed because maybe it was time for a new beginning. The man who called himself God was dead, after all. If the universe could change, if angels could change, then maybe, just maybe, so could Dean Winchester.


	2. the boys--er, well, celestial beings--are back!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that technically this chapter is a day late, but it's only a couple hours for me on the west coast so i'm going to pretend that it's on time. also, speaking of lateness, i may end up going on a temporary hiatus--or at least i'll have to post less frequently--so i can work on my fic for the deancas reverse bang. so i mean, at least you'll have that to look forward to!!  
> on the plus side, there are not one but two pieces of art that i'll be able to add to this fic, but i won't tell you when just yet; you''l just have to wait and see, i suppose :)  
> so, without further ado: your chapter

**April 20, 2020**

After a long night’s unrest, of hours spent trying to sleep and failing, Dean got out of bed at 7am sharp and immediately hit the books, searching for some way to actually accomplish what he and Sam agreed to do the day before. To save Cas. Of course, the most obvious answer would be to pray to Jack and see if he’d come help, since he did last time, but something in Dean told him it wouldn’t be so easy. Not this time. 

Jack left, to go be the _wind and rain and the setting sun_ or whatever hippie bullshit he was on about. He left, and Dean learned the hard way that most people don’t come back if you ask them. Typically they don’t come back at all. _Alright Winchester, stop being an angsty little bitch and do your fucking research._ Fair enough.

About an hour later, Sam came back from his morning run and shot Dean a look as if to say, _“You? Up? Before 9?”_ Dean just shrugged. Eventually, Sam showered and made himself one of those kale smoothies he started drinking a couple weeks prior. (They tasted like ass, by the way. He’s got firsthand knowledge) before pulling out a chair and grabbing one of the many books now stacked on the table. 

For hours, they dug for _anything,_ but for all they called the Men of Letters glorified librarians, they still sucked at collecting the right books, too. At some point, maybe a little after eleven, Sam called it a night and told Dean he should get some rest. Dean just waved him off, knowing full well there’d be no sleep for him even if he tried. Might as well use his restlessness for good right? After all, they’ve got work to do.

**_______________**

**June 11. 2020**

Three weeks later, Sam sat across from him, feet propped up on the table, sipping on a bottle of cheap beer and scrolling through something on his laptop. Dean could hear some ad play an obnoxious pop song and he ignored it at first, in favor of the thick tome he scanned for any mention of the Empty or the Shadow or how to open a door to another cosmic plane. Eventually, it got to be too distracting and he snapped, “Why don’t you get some earbuds or turn the volume down. _Some_ people are actually trying to work here.”

This was, of course, met with Bitchface #47: _Dean, just because you’re grieving doesn’t mean you get to be a complete asshole._ “I’m looking for a case, jackass.”

“Why are you looking for a case? We got one right here, or did you somehow forget?”

“In case you weren’t aware, we’ve currently got jack on Cas, or a way to open a door to the Empty, or _anything_ , for that matter. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to actually go save some people that we _know_ we can save,” Sam sighed, bending over his laptop again.

“Yeah? What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?” he snapped at his brother. Sam just shot him a look that told him exactly what he meant. “We can save him, Sam, we _can._ We just need to do a little more digging, or call in some favors or…”

“Or what, Dean.”

“Or nothing, damnit!” he yelled, standing so suddenly he knocked his chair across the library. “We’ll save him, we will, because he’d do the same for either one of us. We owe him this much, Sam. Hell, we owe him so fucking much that this is the _least_ we can do.” Sam looked at him in what could easily have been mistaken for pity and shut his laptop, rising from his seat. Dean stood there, watching as Sam left him alone with his useless lore and the bottle of Jack that had become his new best friend. 

Eventually, he sunk back into his seat, knees too weak to hold him up any longer. From drunkenness or malnutrition or sadness, he couldn’t tell. His best guess? All three. He told himself he wouldn’t go back here, that he wouldn’t become the same pitiful creature he was when Cas died last time but some things never change, do they? 

_Cas changed._ He wished he knew how to tell his mind to _shut the hell up_ but whiskey never helped with that. Should’ve remembered that earlier. Too late now. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered to the stifling silence.

_______________

**July 9, 2020**

Dean sat up in bed, gasping for air, tears he didn’t remember crying leaving stains down his cheeks. The voices from his nightmares rung in his ears to the point where he felt certain they still screamed at him.

 _You killed him. You killed him. You killed him. Castiel? He’s dead, all the way dead, because of you. I’m sorry, Dean. I admire your loyalty. I only wish he felt the same way. I did it, all of it, for you.The moment Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell he was_ lost _! You changed me, Dean. I love you._

“I love you too, dammit. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he tried to scream but it came out as no more than a hoarse whisper. He fell back onto his pillows and wept for Cas, the angel who saved him, a favor he could never seem to return. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

If one listened closely, the sobs of a Righteous Man could almost be felt as they swept over the world in sorrowful waves as it slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of the horrors a single man could face in a neverending lifetime.

_______________

**August 16, 2020**

Dean woke with his face buried in a more-than-seven-centuries old tome to the sound of laughter. “What? Huh? I’m up,” he slurred, wiping drool off his mouth--gross, did he get that on the book?--and glanced around the room. Sam sat in his usual spot next to him, laughing his annoying ass off, likely at Dean’s expense. Then, standing across from them was…

“Hi, Dean,” Jack grinned and waved at him.

“Hey, Jack. What, uh, what’re you doing here? I thought you were gonna go be the ocean and the rain and sunrise or whatever hippie shit,” Dean asked.

“Oh, well, I got bored of all that. It’s fun, at first, to be the wind because you get to go really fast all the time but everything else… Being God is really lonely, even with Amara here, and I missed you guys, so I decided I’d come back.” Jack shrugged and continued hesitantly, “Of course, if you don’t want me here I can always just go-”

“Of course we want you here, Jack,” Sam assured him at the same time Dean said, “You’re family, kiddo,” and pulled him in for a hug. He felt Jack smile into his chest and squeeze him back.

“Awesome! But if I’m going to stay, there’s something I have to do first.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Amara and I have been discussing it, and we both agree that we should… how did you put it?” Jack fell silent for a moment, as if listening to something--someone--before continuing, “We should become separate manifestations again.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It- I don’t know how to explain it, exactly. I’m still kinda new to this whole thing, remember? Amara should be able to explain it to you,” Jack shrugged and took a couple steps back as his eyes began to glow. A yellow light tinged with blue-white and what Dean recognized as Amara’s dark power flashed through the room, and Dean and Sam were sent flying into the bookshelves. When the dust cleared, Amara stood in front of them, brushing off her pantsuit as she reached out a hand to help up Jack, who found himself sprawled on the floor.

“Hello, Sam. Dean. It’s good to see you again,” Amara smiled, her heels clacking on the floor as she walked over to give each of them a hug. “Man, I’ve missed having my own manifestation. Not that I didn’t enjoy your company, Jack, it’s just-”

“No, I understand. I feel the same way.”

“Speaking of which,” Sam interrupted before the silence could grow too awkward, “what, exactly, just happened?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll start from the beginning,” Amara sighed. “Technically, my brother was never God.”

“What do you mean he was never God?” Dean asked, finally awake enough to try and process whatever just happened.

“Chuck was--and now Jack _is--_ the manifestation of the Light, just as I am the manifestation of the Dark, but he wasn’t God. God can best be explained as a scale, with the Light at one end and the Dark at the other. These two forces combined are God, but neither is God on its own. However, when my brother… consumed me, our manifestations merged and together, we became God. But we were still separate entities, as Jack and I were still separate entities even though we inhabited the same body. What you saw just now was the Light and the Dark separating and becoming separate beings as we have been since the beginning of time. Really, it’s what _caused_ the beginning of time, but all that’s just details.”

“Right. Ok. Makes sense, I guess,” Dean hummed to himself as he processed all of… _that_ while Sam sat there with the look on his face that he usually got when he wanted to write something down but he didn’t have a proper place to do so. “Well, now that you’re both back, can anyone else go for a burger? I’m starving.”

_______________

“Hey, Jack, can I talk to you?” Dean asked after dinner and a few rounds of beer--yeah, he let Jack have a bottle or two, so what? Kid’s the closest thing to God now, so, why not right?--as everyone retired to their respective rooms for the night.

“Sure,” Jack replied hesitantly, as if scared of what this talk might possibly be about.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.” Dean couldn’t help but smile at how willing the kid seemed to help, but stopped the second he realised _why_ he felt the need to prove himself, even after everything.

“Is there any chance you could, uh, bring Cas back? You did it last time, right?”

“I’m sorry, Dean, but I can’t. The Empty may be where I go when I die, but I have no jurisdiction over it. I was only able to bring Cas back last time because I woke him up. He did the rest.” Dean opened his mouth to ask a question but Jack seemed to know what he was going to say. “I tried already, Dean. I can’t reach him, now that I have this power. I command Creation, and because I do, I am bound to it. I have even less power over the Empty than I did before, and that isn’t saying much. I’m sorry, Dean, I really am.”

“It’s fine, Jack. Guess we’ll just have to get him out the old fashioned way.”

“What’s that?”

“Research. Lots and lots of research. But not today. You may be God or the Light or whatever, but you’re still part human and that means you need sleep. We’ll start first thing tomorrow morning. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds great. Goodnight, Dean,” Jack whispered, giving Dean a quick, tight hug before running down the hall in his dinosaur pajamas that Dean lent him.

“Kids,” he sighed fondly, watching Jack disappear from sight.


End file.
